Friday, February 7, 2014

I've been doing a lot of reflecting on my life lately. What have I learned? I've learned that I'm my own worst enemy and I stand in my own way. I've learned that being 29 is depressing so I'm going back to 25 and you can't tell me I can't. I've learned that teenage angst is adorable and endearing; almost 30 year old angst is called a mid-life crisis and that's just fucking tragic and puts you right onto an episode of Hoarders. Also I've learned that people think I'm rad; though I'm still puzzled by that. Although I shouldn't be surprised. I have the same daddy issues that cause me to crave love from people that despise me. But the most important thing I learned is that thinking and feeling suck the big one. I've decided that the only way I'll have a chance of making it to my thirties is if I limit having thoughts and feelings to twice a week. Hence I will up my meds and keep my fridge stocked with boozy beverages. Cheers bitches!

On a real note though, I ran into an ex boyfriend's mom literally two hours ago at the store. I saw her and had that moment of panic where I immediately had awkward butt crack sweat and wondered if it would be overdrammatic to slam my cart into a display and run for my life. Unfortunately in my advanced age and due to the degeneration of my liver, my reaction time has significantly increased. Fuuuuuuck she saw me and doesn't see my enlarged, panicked pupils and the bead of sweat chillin on my upper lip. Exes mom comes over and gives me the most awkward hug of my life. It was the kind of hug where you realize your ass is pushed as far back as your pelvis will allow and you keep patting their back because your limbs have no idea what the fuck they're supposed to do. At this point my entire life was sweating and I half hoped I would have a stroke. The Real Housewives of Buena Park, set your TIVO.

So we did the awkward "nice to see you" greetings. She made an unsuccessful joke that I looked much better than the last time she saw me. Sidenote: the last time she saw me I was storming out of her house at 3 am sobbing hysterically because her son mascerated my heart in a food processor. Then the awkward silence prompted me to ask the loaded question, "How is doucheface?". Anyone who says that they wish the best for the ex that butchered their insides is a dirty liar and I will punch you in the mouth. What you want to hear is that they were in an accident that made their penis unusable and they live in the basement watching old episodes of Carebears and sobbing. I see you nodding over your glass of wine.

As she geared up to answer my question the look on her face terrified me. I saw pity there so I immediately knew the words "hot wife", "adorable babies" and "beach house in Hawaii" were about to ruin me. I immediately looked into my cart and realized I was going to need a shit ton more booze. And Tapatio Doritoes. At least three bags. But as she started talking I discovered her pity was for doucheface. Turns out things didn't go so well for him. I wanted to want to run up and down the aisles highfiving strangers and kissing teenage boys. Instead I actually felt bad. I'd wished herpes, impotence, even death via car fire on this guy. Now I actually felt bad for him. Who the fuck am I?

Turns out I can't be mad at silly boys for my bad (typically drunk) choices. In fact, I should thank them all for helping me dodge a bullet. Better yet a mother fucking bomb! I mean I considered marrying someone who turned out to be one of the most awful people I've ever met. That one I won't thank. That one can burn in hell. Shit. There goes forgiveness.